


Father's Day

by alltimelexi



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, M/M, Suicide, This is not a happy fic in any way/shape/form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 03:38:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltimelexi/pseuds/alltimelexi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parenting was supposed to be something they did together and Grantaire finally realizes he can't do it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is not a nice story at all. It may not make sense. I started writing in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm and this is what happened. I apologize in advance.

Everything was closing in and he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the survivor's guilt. He couldn't take the blonde curls and that face that was too serious to belong to a three year old. He couldn't take looking at that kid every day and only being able to see Enjolras. He couldn't take not seeing Enjolras every day.

Grantaire curled in on himself, hearing Elliot cry from his room, but not being able to find the courage to get up and go check on Enjolras' son. The empty bottle of whiskey that was lying beside him on the bed was captivating his attention. Eventually he was able to drown Elliot's cries out and drown himself in memories.

He remembered the day Elliot was born. Courfeyrac and Jehan had been casually dropping suggestions because their daughter Emily could use a playmate. Grantaire had laughed at them, not thinking that Enjolras had actually been considering it until the blonde had asked him about it over dinner one day.

"Do you want a child?" was all it had taken to start this whole thing.

Enjolras had been so proud when Elliot had been handed to him that night. All of their friends had been there and there was still a picture of Enjolras and the baby that night on the mantle in the living room.

Enjolras' living room.

Grantaire wished so often that Elliot had never been born that he wondered how he could possibly justify trying to act like the father that Elliot needed. At first there had been a constant stream in and out to help him, someone to run their hand through his curls and mutter that he was going to be alright while someone else soothed Elliot's cries.

Eventually they had expected him to pick up and comfort the boy on his own.

Grantaire hated the beautiful little blonde boy. Grantaire hated being a father and he hated knowing that no matter how many times Enjolras had soothed away his fears that it was all wrong and he was exactly like his father and he hated knowing that he didn't deserve Elliot.

Grantaire curled into himself further, wishing he could cry, scream his lungs out like the baby. He hadn't cried since he had been told what had happened. He didn't think he felt enough to cry anymore. Maybe he wasn't a good enough person to be able to weep over his Apollo. 

Father's Day was the day, Enjolras had been so happy because it had been his ("ours, Grantaire") first Father's Day as a father and he had been so stupidly excited even though Elliot was less than a year old and there was no way that he could do anything to let them know that he appreciated them that young.

But either way Enjolras had a stupid grin on his face all day and when he had decided to go get them some dessert to celebrate Grantaire had crabbily told them he wanted to stay home and relax and Enjolras hadn't even blinked an eye, just kissed him and told him that he and Elliot would be back soon. 

Instead a cop showed up at their door and told him that Enjolras was dead and that he was never going to be back and his son was fine, only light bruises, and Grantaire felt himself die. 

How could Enjolras be gone and Elliot only have a bruise across his small chest where his car seat had kept him safe. It wasn't fair. If Grantaire had gone too, maybe he would have been the one driving and impacted. Maybe he would have died as well. Maybe he and Enjolras would be together right now, three years later to the day. 

Elliot was still crying and Grantaire had had enough, standing up and making his way into the room that had been Enjolras' personal study until Elliot had come along and there the boy was, screaming his head off, standing in his crib and reaching out towards Grantaire. His curls were matted to his head and he was too big for the crib now and Grantaire felt his stomach churn at the thought of what an awful father he was and how happy Elliot would have been if he was the one that would have been slammed into by that drunken teenage asshole.

"I hate you," Grantaire told the boy, who just looked at the only father he ever really got to know, the one who could do nothing but fail him. "Do you hear me? I hate you," Grantaire said, louder now.

He knew it wasn't fair to Elliot. He knew Elliot wasn't the one who had caused the wreck. He knew that nothing about this was fair and he hated everything about it and he wondered just what Enjolras would think if he could see him now.

The thought was like a stab in the stomach and Grantaire knew he couldn't do this anymore. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the contacts, trying to make a good decision for once. Combeferre was the best decision, he thought, and he sent him a text. "Elliot deserves better," was all it said.

Grantaire picked up the boy in his arms, watching as Elliot grabbed the front of his shirt and held on tightly. After all this time, Grantaire didn't know why Elliot still acted like loved him, like he legitimately thought of him as a father. There was no way he could love someone like Grantaire. 

Grantaire pressed a kiss to Elliot's forehead and smoothed back his curls, carrying him into the living room. He looked at the picture of Enjolras and Elliot, he closed his eyes and saw Enjolras' smile as clear as it had been that day, and he stayed there in front of that picture, holding his son and ignoring the buzzing of his phone, until he was certain that Elliot was asleep in his arms.

He then laid the boy down on the carpet, because the crib was too small for him and Grantaire's room was a wreck of bottles, and moved to unlock the front door. It would be easier that way.

With all of that out of the way, Grantaire stepped into the bathroom. He looked back, trying to catch one final glimpse of Elliot, before closing the door.


End file.
